


My Underground Journal

by elwinglyre



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, London Underground, M/M, PWP, Public Sex, Sexy Time on a Subway, We all know they want each other..., the Tube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 00:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11451819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwinglyre/pseuds/elwinglyre
Summary: John Watson finds himself puzzled by his best friend's advances on the Tube during a case and uses his preferred therapeutic method--he blogs it.  Hence, John's Underground Journal. Written for July 2017 Sherlock Challenge "On The Tube." Set after series 4.





	My Underground Journal

_**My Underground Dilemma** _

3d ago

What happened today, I can’t write on my usual public blog. I can’t talk to my mates about it. I can’t even talk to my best friend about it because, my best friend is the reason why. He’s why I’m forced to write what happened all down here so I can make some sense of it all. Why am I writing here in an WordPress blog anonymously? It’s because I can’t post where the world can read it and dissect it and comment on it like some bloody confession. What happened today I’m writing here for myself.

It happened on the Tube. The Bakerloo Line to be precise. Funny thing is--I hate the Tube, but my friend and colleague hates it more. I got on and I got off. And he didn’t get off. At least I don’t think he did. What happened between? That’s why I can’t put it on my usual blog. That’s why it’s here. I’ve got to get my head on straight before my best friend comes home, and the best way for me to do that is to write it here. We live together. He’s my partner. But not like _that_. At least I didn’t think so. Not until now at least.

Bloody hell. That’s the crux of the problem. I don’t even know what _now_ is.

Half of London thinks we’ve been shagging for years. We never have. There were a few times that I wondered what it might be like. Before I married. Before my daughter. Before everything else.

It all started earlier. I got on at Wembley Central. He got on with me. It was late--we were tagging someone (part of our work). The car was empty except for this older lady and the gentleman we got on to follow. As usual on the Tube, the ambient beeps and hums and rumbles rushed over me like the clammy, oily odor and flashing lights. A cacophony to the senses that I don’t like much. We stood next to each other watching for our train in the underground. We stood closer than normal. My partner behind me. And through the rush of the terminal, his long fingers suddenly dug into my thigh to pull me closer before we got on to the Tube. I looked back at him and he gave me a look I never thought I’d see directed at me--at least never from him. Eyes, heavy lidded, sensual. Lips curled like a cat on the prowl. He poured into my space like velvet--all rich and smooth. Too smooth. As the mark we were following got into the train, we found our place in the same cabin. I felt his hand move up my leg. He dug his claws in me good. He kept behind me, pressing into me. I was speechless and unmovable as the Tube moved, then stopped and started. Others got on and off, but the two original passengers remained. And we watched our gentleman. And he saw us back.

It had to be an experiment. Or a cover of some type. It was only after I felt his hard length pressed close into my backside that I dared to doubt it. I never dared to believe he thought of me this way. His mouth pressed against my ear, and he licked, and then he literally purred. Suddenly he whispered in that deep, rumbly voice of his, “Play along. Yes, I’ll make you feel good. So good.” And then he said my name. I whimpered. I had to admit to myself how much I’d wanted to hear him talk to me like this--say my name in that rich baritone. My legs felt like rubber, and he grasped my hip with his other hand, then he rutted against me as the Tube stopped at Queen’s Park. The people who once crowded the compartment, got off-- at least all but the older lady, our gentleman we were following, and a third straggler who'd gotten on the stop before. Our two guests in the cab had taken notice of our “encounter.” The newcomer seemed oblivious. I was surprised since we were hard to miss as my friend's hand had now inched to my crotch and squeezed and palmed its girth and length. I opened my mouth to tell him to stop--ask him what in bloody hell he was doing, and he shushed me like a bad child. The old lady’s eyes widened in utter shock as I gasped at his intense ministrations. I’m sure she was tempted to beat us both with her umbrella since we were acting like two dogs going at it in heat. The Tube’s brakes squeaked to halt, and the poor old thing hobbled as fast as her poor legs could carry her out the door along with our other unsuspecting guest. I doubt it was even frail old woman's stop--she just wanted out and fast. But not our gentleman. He watched on with rapt attention I was groped with long, talented fingers. He sat on a bench across from us, his gaze fixed on us.

“You’ve thought about this. I’ve thought about this. We’ve both wanted this,” he whispered, as my friend undid my zip.

I swallowed down a “yes” in response. He was so right and so wrong at the same time. Like a bloody perv, I let his elegant hand slide into my jeans and pants in full view of gentleman seated in front of us and god almighty. He pulled out my needy cock, prompting our gentleman guest to imitate us: the man pulled down his zip of his own trousers and took himself firmly in hand and wanked. 

“Sometimes one must take advantage of a situation to get what one wants,” my friend murmured. I could see from the corner of my eye that he was watching himself pull my cock.

I let him use me. And he knew exactly how to twist and flick and prime my dick to make me groan and buck with helpless abandon--and amazing enough, I didn’t fucking care. It felt bloody marvelous as his hand did magic and his own cock desperately pushed and rubbed against my tailbone.  

“Don’t bite down on your lip,” he rumbled deep in my ear. “I want to hear you. So does our new friend.”

The brakes squealed again for the next stop, and he pulled his long coat around us and turned away from the doors, and he still jerked my cock but lazily with a focused purpose, taking his sweet time. He said I needed to speak up. Moan louder. He wanted to hear me. Building. Building. No one entered our niche and our guest stayed on. The doors closed, and we turned around to face our audience once more. I felt like I was on a precipice, ready to fall and instinctively shut my eyes to it all.

“Don’t close them,” he whispered, then moaned into my hair. “Watch him, watch my hand, watch the windows. Watch it all. Remember. Think. Who else sees us? My hand pumping your beautiful, thick cock. Would he like to suck it like I do now? Make you come, make you beg for more. I bet he envies me. To touch you like this. Have you. Other people envy me too. See? The cameras?”

With that idea my mind blanked although I know he was trying to tell me something else. Something just beyond my reach. I was certain my friend would not put on that public of a display without reason--although he was rather an exhibitionist, I hadn’t thought of him one in this sense. And I really rather not be arrested for public indecency. I, however, was far too gone to resist or care.

“You’re going to get off at Baker Street,” he instructed. I nodded. I got his double meaning. I knew I was ready. Just before the stop, his grasp tighten, quickened. He braced his arm around me as he rutted against me. “Come for me.” I watched as our gentleman shot his load on the floor, and I did the same. My friend wiped the back his hand on my jeans, unceremoniously folded my cock back inside and zipped me up. All while the Tube brakes echoed and we slowed down. It felt like a dream.

“Your stop. I’ll come along after.” 

I could have sworn as I stumbled away, he said, “I promise.”

That’s when I got off. Dazed. It was the oddest and hottest experience in my entire life. And that’s saying plenty.

As I turned and watched him go as the doors shut fast, the Tube moved forward. My friend stepped across to the gentleman in the train. I turned and I walked home.

It was raining.

When I got back, I decided to write this. It’s part of my nature now to write down what happens to us on our adventures. This was one adventure I had to write. For my own comprehension, for my own sanity. And it didn’t take long to make up my mind that typing this all out would help put this in some kind of perspective. I know he’ll be home soon. I don’t know what he’ll expect.I do know that he will enlighten me with what happened with the gentleman. That’ he’ll dazzle me with his brilliant deductions. Possibly he’ll even explain the purpose for our “tryst” in the Tube. Maybe not.

But what do I do? How do I react? What should I say if he pretends nothing happened? What if he simply deletes it?  I’m not sure what I’d do. I do know that after what happened on the Tube that I want it. I want him. What he whispered in my ear was a confession. I hoped it wasn’t an experiment. I think I always have wanted him--I just wouldn’t admit the depth of it before. What happened was more than some hand job.

He said that he’ll “come along after.” Another double meaning that I’m certain was intentional. It gives me hope that this isn’t some “one off.” Some experiment. There’s nothing I’d love to do more than help him “come along after.”

Until then, I can only do what he always bloody well makes me do. Wait.

\-------------

**2 COMMENTS**

 

_Science of D_

2d ago

This is what you resort to in my absence? Bad porn? And in what way is this a dilemma? Although it does need some sort of a climax that should be explored. Please continue...

⤿Reply            Like ☆

 

   

_My Underground Journal_

2d ago

On my laptop again? How else would you even find this?

    ⤿Reply            1 Like ☆

 

****

**The Outcome of my Tubular Experience**

2d ago

Climax? Yes, well, we shall explore it. And expand upon it. And since you are reading this, I bet you expect me to write--in detail--what happened when you got home. That is private. As for the rest of the story--that will be on my regular blog (porn removed). And in regard to my writing skills, let me say...

You wanker.

I repeat.

Wanker.

And not good.

Bad porn? No. Instead. I’ll give you a bad romance novel. Here:

Shall I say that he said, “I love you”?

Shall I say that I said, “I love you” back?

Shall I say that he gives the best head I’ve ever had?

Shall I say that he said that I give “adequate” head? I suppose coming from him that’s the highest compliment for a blow job. I think it’s a bit not good--but we’ve more to explore.

Anyhow. His cock is magic and his mouth is dirty. And I do love the fuck wad. For better or worse.

And to think. We owe it to the bloody Tube and a gentleman jewel thief. And that he can’t keep his hands off my laptop (and other “things”).

\-------------

**2 COMMENTS**

_Science of D_

1d ago

Once upon a time, my blogger romanticized brilliant cases. Yesterday he finally solved the most important case of all. P.S. I got the gentleman’s jewels.

⤿Reply           1 Like ☆

 

   

_My Underground Journal_

1d ago

And they all lived happily ever after… you got my jewels too, but I think you’ll agree that mine are much more precious.

    ⤿Reply            1 Like ☆

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and kudos welcome and comment always answered! Thank you for reading.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr: [**elwinglyre Tumblr**](https://elwinglyre.tumblr.com/)!


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